The indifference is false.
So overwhelmed by inner resistance to what happened, what is, what might be,
So concerned by what was not, what isn’t, what could never be,
I put a lid of indifference over my fears and anxieties; my grief, sorrow, regrets too. Precisely because it does hurt so much, I tried to trivialize my wounds by denying their significance.
But the pain is more honest than I am: it’s urgent truth louder and more real than my reductionist self-deceptions. I’m not indifferent at all. I am in pain and it hurts! Life is painful! But better to live the felt pain than then live in deadened skin with deadened heart.
I was abandoned by my parents, which has convinced me I am worthless – an insignificant forgettable life like a nameless animal: an anonymous non-entity. This self-identity with worthlessness has convinced me that abandonment is inevitable, and set me up to compulsively reenact this pattern over and over again in my life. The very fear of it happening and my efforts to avoid experiencing abandonment again being the very self-fulfilling force that brings it about. May inner non-resistance to past abandonment release me from this cycle.
My whole nervous system is saturated with that stress, and I am so glad my old numbness is finally giving way to this intensity of feeling.
There is life flowing in the truth, and that inner resistance and that concern, reveal where I still take up identity as a person. Reveal what trivial control I have not yet surrendered over this or that arbitrary fact of past and present existence.
Only in the feeling of it can the identified self be held accountable for its resistance and concerns, and brought to light – released. The facts are not the pain – the resistance to them is. Let me forgive life what was, what is. More than forgiveness, let me surrender the stubborn identity with form that keeps me sailing against heaven’s wind.
This is where false indifference to what is, is transmuted into real acceptance of what is: where the ego bows to life, like a swimmer stilled from thrashing, resting in humility to be kept in grace’s arms – a babe again, resting in a vastness of felt being.